Hunger that Can't be Sated (After Tarsus Collection)
by infiniteworld8
Summary: After Tarsus IV, things are supposed to be back to normal. . But some promises can't be kept because Tarsus isn't only a thing of the past, it's a spectre in the present and those who lived the nightmare can't just forget and return to normal. Hell isn't something you can run away from, it clings to you with every footstep away. (Collection of One Shots)
1. Hunger that Can't be Sated

_This story started was the product of thinking about what it must have been like for Kirk and his mother after he got home from Tarsus . The first few weeks must have been extremely hard and here's some of what I think happened (This is a collection that will be added to in a series of one-shots)_

* * *

She didn't' know what to do with him. It had been three months since he had got off the U.S Yorktown and a few more months since he had left Tarsus. It had been over 2 years since she had shuttled her eleven—almost twelve year old on a flight and tried half-heartedly to convince him that she wasn't just trying to get rid of him.

She could tell he didn't believe her words when she had spoken that day so any years ago now. And she couldn't blame him, because with every fibre of her being she had just wanted him gone. She had wanted him away from her eyesight no longer around to torment her with his face or eyes which every day were beginning to look so much like George's. It had been a blessing in disguise when he had finally almost killed himself in yet another of his reckless and—she recognized attention-seeking endeavors and George's relatives had called her asking how things were. It had been a blessing when the woman and her husband had offered to take jimmy.

Maybe they could sense she was at her wits end, maybe they just wanted to see what was technically their cousin by some accounts and nephew by others—either way it didn't matter she could finally get rid of her son. So she had packed him away ignoring the defiance in his eyes or the comm. messages she had read days before that he was planning to ditch the shuttle when he got the chance. Sam had already left—he thought she didn't know where he was but with her connection it wasn't hard to keep a tab on her eldest son. If her second son wanted to leave who was she to stop him?

Kirks weren't made to be cooped up, they were made for freedom, doing or dying…just like George…and even the stars couldn't contain him.

She had ignored all the signs when it started. Sporadic comms at first forced by his aunt and uncle had changed into terse messages and then into silence. It was atmospheric disturbances she assured herself, Tarsus was almost impossible to reach by shuttle craft or comms, for months out of the year. She had forced down the worry. And then it had all shattered with one comm. from Pike, her worst fears were confirmed. They had found Jimmy. And her son and the entire colony had been at the mercy of a madman.

She hated herself for ignoring her suspicions that something was wrong, but she hated herself more for what she did next . Because even though her son was most likely dying in some cold sterile , sickbay she couldn't bring herself to go to him. She had deleted the message and the others that followed. And when she finally answered it was only after Jimmy had gotten better. It was easy enough to feign lack of knowledge and claim a deep space mission hadn't allowed her an opportunity to get any comms or recent news. She had seen Pike believed he. After all what mother would let her own son, lay dying and not come? He didn't consider for a moment that she hadn't simply decided not to come. He hadn't considered that maybe she had already experienced too much loss.

When she finally met her son, she couldn't believe he was Jimmy. He was taller than she remembered, so much thinner. His face was pale, his cheeks sunken, his hair limp. He looked like he was hanging onto living by a thread.

What struck her most though was the eyes. They didn't have a spark of life left. Pike had given him a small push forward and he had come and reluctantly stood in front of her…like he was wary and waiting. Tears were streaking down her cheeks at her selfishness as she went to hug him— something she hardly—had ever done he flinched.

Her arms fell back to her sides, like she had been slapped. She recognized the wary look in his eyes now; it wasn't unfamiliarity with the situation. It was the skittish movement of a feral animal that was trapped and ready to fight survival the only thing he knew how.

Winona watched as Pike—Chris, as Jimmy seemed to know him, crouched down and talked to him and only after their conversation did Kirk move forward again. Winona's face burned with embarrassment that anybody could have took for sadness and what was happening. How was it that a man she barely knew made Jimmy more comfortable than his own mother?

She was well aware that the hug she finally gave him was uncomfortable for them both. Her because she was unaccustomed to it. Him because his body was trembling against hers and he didn't seem to want to touch her, pulling as far away from her as possible in her embrace like he expected the show of affection to be the precursor to something more sinister.

She had accepted the counseling recommendations from Pike, and the nutrition plan and follow-ups from the doctors and then she had bundled Jimmy home. Like an unwanted package she had just received…again.

The next days had been tense and unpleasant for them all. Frank was uncaring, She didn't want to act like things were different and Jimmy…well he just wasn't Jimmy anymore.

Now, Frank had left on a trip . And Jim as her son now liked to be called and she had settled into an uneasy routine. It was marked by minute long one-sided conversations by Winona, dinners that nobody had the appetite to eat and nightmares in which he woke up screaming that she couldn't comfort him after.

She left the house that day because she needed to get out. Somewhere, anywhere…Jim hadn't seemed to care. He was sprawled on the couch staring blankly at a Holovid. His lanky legs dangling over the edge of the couch arm, his body swamped in clothes that hung off him. He had barely turned his head as she had spoken to him. His eyes had tracked her briefly like he was watching her to see what else she planned and when she hadn't come any closer he had turned back, settling into the sofa like a person for whom the effort of merely breathing was taxing.

And Winona had left. Shutting the door behind her and standing on the steps she let herself cry, because she knew there was nothing she could ever do that would fix what had happened.

XXX XXX

Kirk stared at the insipid commercial and even more insipid drama on and then flicked idly through the channels. He couldn't bring himself to be interested in any of it anymore. He let his mind fade back and briefly wondered what Kevin was doing. He had tried to contact the others but Starfleet had refused to give up their locations and Kevin's grandparents had refused to let him see the boy when he had called. They said they wanted him to just forget it all. They didn't understand Tarsus wasn't something you could forget. Because you couldn't forget hell, It stayed with you forever.

Jim shifted uncomfortably on the couch. His body was all sharp angles, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. It was easier on the ship, when they had finally stopped making him sit down at meals and just let him grab what he wanted when he wanted it. It felt more normal then, like he was used to. A protein bar one hour— a few hours later some fruit. That was better than the full course meals that the nutritionist had insisted on at first because even if it was a small portion of food, the little heap was only a reminder of all the times they had sat there and fantasized about what they would like to eat, only to wake up and find that another of their number has succumbed to starvation.

Eating even that few spoonfuls had felt like a betrayal. And second even though the feeding port he had in his stomach had been removed as well as the central catheter he had inserted, his body just wasn't used to eating much anymore. Plus he seemed to have a lot more allergies than he had before. He had always had issues with some foods, but ever since Tarsus and probably the effects of the drugs Kodos had given him, he had allergies to about half the things he normally would have been able to eat. Just one more side-effect of his time spent in hell.

Now Kirk's stomach rumbled unpleasantly, it ached slightly too. He hadn't eaten anything since dinner last night in which his clueless as ever mother had set a plate of food in front of him and he had tried to eat it only to wind up puking in the bathroom after a few bites too many of the rich meal.

He laid there a little longer, letting the ache intensify and then reluctantly dragged his body up and went to the kitchen to find something to eat. His eyes landed on a banana, it was soft in spots and clearly on its last legs but he had eaten worse. The flesh was sweet and yet bland. He chewed the mush slowly, as he raised it to his mouth for another bite he faltered. His eyes burned, his throat felt tight.

He wondered briefly whether he was having an allergic reaction and then he felt something drip down his face and then another. They were tears salty and warm…and as he stared at the banana they grew.

He dropped the yellow fruit to the floor and just stood remembering a time months ago. It had been one of the few somewhat good days they had. Somehow, in a stasis pod of which the owners were either dead or long gone to Kodos compound, were clusters of bananas, most slightly over ripe. But it had been more than enough for all of them. And Jim hadn't had the heart to try to ration them out or save some for tomorrow. Because who knew when tomorrow would come.

Now almost all of those kids were long dead and he was left with a mouth full of half chewed banana and a mind full of memories. He spat out the now sickly sweet fruit and at the same time bit off the sob that was welling within him. The sharp ache intensified in his abdomen and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. The pain was too much, it was too much of a reminder , the sharp gnawing in his abdomen only brought back more starved faces and terrified nights. And he wanted it to end.

He grabbed the nearest thing and this time it was a handful of dry cereal. It spilled from his hand as he raised it to his mouth. The flakes choked him. Tears were running down his face, half-hitching sobs shuddering through his frame, he was gagging as he choked the food down. Every mouthful was like a promise broken. Every mouthful reminded him of how he was alive and others, people he had swore would live, laid buried in the ground somewhere that there bones might never be found.

He couldn't stand the memories brought on by the hunger tearing through his frame and he couldn't stand the memories brought on with every mouthful. Each swallow was a battle against his body and ultimately his starving fourteen year old frame won out, choking the food down, bite by bite, swallow by swallow.

He opened the stasis cabinet and grabbed eggs shoving them raw into his mouth the shells crunching between his teeth yolk running down his chin. He grabbed a bottle of juice gulping it down , the liquid spilled down his chest, overflowed his mouth, the bottle fell from his grasp. But it wasn't enough. He was hungry, desperately in need of something anything to wash away the images flashing through his mind. He ripped open the pantry grabbing boxes off the shelve and ripping them open, he opened the stasis compartment and randomly grabbed items. Dried pasta, half-rotten lettuce, off-date milk, he ate it all. Stuffing it in gorging himself. After all this time he was hungry and…

It felt wrong.

He grabbed a handful of bread off the floor and nearly choked as he tried to swallow it.

He was crying and chewing and swallowing and the sharp ache in his stomach he had was now replaced with a dull pain as it protested at the items he was cramming down.

The door opened and Kirk didn't even look up from where he was doing his best to gorge himself to acknowledge the person staring at him in horror.

XXXX XXXX

Winona smoothed the tears off her cheeks and drove the air skimmer home. She hadn't gone anywhere, just drove around trying to forget the shell of a child she was coming back to. As she walked in the house, she glanced toward the couch and was surprised to find Jim gone; usually he wouldn't move for hours at a time. Puzzled and somewhat worried she walked further into the room. Her anxiety only grew as she heard a gag from the kitchen and the sound of something spilling across the floor. She made to to the kitchen doorway and stood perfectly still staring at her son. He was kneeling on the floor , sobbing she could tell by his shoulders shaking even though the only sound was him choking as he shoved food in. The bag she was carrying fell from her fingers, to lie on the floor. He flinched at the sound and turned his face towards her , his face and clothes were smeared with food.

Her voice was barely above a whisper and shaking. "Jimmy dear, what are you doing?"

"I'm hungry." The voice was blank, quivering in intensity. He bowed his head , hair falling into his face and his hands released the handfuls of food he was holding. He shuddered and then she heard it, a quiet keening sound like an animal dying, like a person being tortured. She kneeled down, her legs touching the sticky mess he kneeled in but he didn't move towards her. Instead he wrapped his arms around his legs rocking back and forth. His body shuddered again and this time , the food he had swallowed came up, spilling onto his shirt and trousers and finally after several heaves he settled back breathing heavily.

She reached out, trying to wipe his mouth and he flinched away again, pulling even tighter into himself. His eyes turned up to hers and he knew she saw the tears dripping down her own cheeks. As he whispered yet again, "I'm hungry."

She moved closer not trying to touch him, but just an arm's length away. Her own reply of "I know Jimmy" was so silent it wasn't heard.

But she heard him, repeating it over and over, in between sobs, gags and panting breath. "I'm hungry."

The sun set outside and they both remained sitting on the floor for hours after. Winona cried as she watched the once vibrant child, now a wreck who she couldn't begin to know how to fix. He was hungry.

She saw that now. He always had been. She had once had the power to fill that void.

Now it was a hunger that could never be filled, because she couldn't replace what had been stolen from him months ago. She couldn't nourish him with the life.

* * *

_In my headcanon Winona was not a very attentive mother to Kirk , so when he comes back from Tarsus it's probably extremely difficult to connect with him. I see him as having issues with eating and feeling guilty about that and then of course the PTSD from the whole ordeal. Also he doesn't have anybody to talk to about what happens and so he's trying to sort things out himself._

_I liked to say that this story is dedicated to those who across the world suffer hunger and starvation and to those with eating disorders related to trauma. Thanks for reading_


	2. A Lesson in History

_Title: A Lesson In History_

_Summary: Kirk starts school for the first time after Tarsus, but a history lesson has as much similarity to the past as it does to the present._

* * *

It's his first week back at school. The stares follow him; the whispers are just loud enough that he can't help not hear them. The expressions coated with pity are present on every face, nobody really knows what happened. Nobody knows where he spent the last two years and he doesn't bother to tell them. _There are no words to ever describe what Tarsus was, a nightmare can only be sketched but the picture stays in the mind of the dreamer._

Instead he does what he's supposed to do, speak to the teachers when they ask questions, follow the instructions to his classes, try to participate in life. But he's nothing more than an observer, to participate would require him to remember how life was before and that would require slogging through all the memories he's trying his best to lock away.

The lasts therapist his mother drags him to every week, wants him to remember, she wants him to understand and accept. He knows she won't last long, or make any more headway than the others…because she doesn't understand. From her clean, well manicured nails, pristine clothes and graduate school crafted thoughts of life, she's lost. She'll never understand what's wrong or how to fix it…because she never spent a stint in hell.

He can't remember and yet he can't stop. Every day he fights to lock that time away, far back where he'll never think of it… far back so that he can pretend it never happened. He doesn't want to talk about the planet that haunts his nightmares or the things he seen and done he just wants to forget.

He sits in the cafeteria and stares at the children around him. They laugh, they play, and they live.

And he just watches. Half- eaten lunch trays tossed aside, voices yelling so loud they could be heard halfway across a courtyard, plump full bodies and childish pranks…_it's life, and it's so wrong._

He feels like he's drowning, submerged in a sea of normalcy. A boy settles next to him. The teen tries to start a conversation; maybe he takes pity of him. Maybe it's one of the teachers' attempts to help him adapt. Either way, he doesn't care.

"Hi, you're Jim right?"

Kirk stares at him….the boy looks slightly unnerved, but to his credit tries again. "So, uh me and a few others we're going to watch a holo after school you…"

The teen trails off as Kirk doesn't speak, doesn't even look at him anymore. Kirk stares at the food lying untouched on his own plate and picks at the bread of his untouched sandwich then whispers in a voice so tired it's barely audible. "That's not important."

"What?" The other boy leans closer and Kirk turns to look at him. He sees a startled look across his face, and knows it's his eyes. Their dead, he's heard his mother mention that to the therapist after he leaves the room and waits for them to finish discussing him. He's knows they reflect all the death he's seen, and… all the death he's brought. He knows that they look like death and there's nothing that can change that because he feels like he's dead.

"It's not important…" Kirk turns away not bothering to watch as he hears the other boy walk away after a moment. It's the truth, it wasn't important, nothing much is anymore. Holos, eating, sleep none of its important-a corpse doesn't need to do any of those things. He wishes his mother and the rest of them would see that.

He wishes they would just let him die. _He accomplished the only thing left to do, eight others got off that planet of hell because of him and now he just wants to let go and curl up, cold and unfeeling with the others who are lying in the ground because of him—because he wasn't fast enough—or strong enough—because somehow someway he should have saved them too and—he couldn't._ He wishes he could just die…then he wouldn't hurt so much.

The bell for next class rings and as the other kids shove last bites into their mouths and dump trays into the recycler he carefully packs his untouched lunch away. He can't bring himself to eat it most days, but he can't bring himself to waste it either.

A part of him knows he's safe on Earth and another part knows that he's never safe, because Tarsus was safe too and then it was all blood and screaming and the stench of death so that he'll never be able to get rid of the odour from his memory.

He's walking to class, through a ceaseless mass of people doing his best to ignore the students around him. Doing his best to remind himself that the screams are just kids playing and not people crying out as they lay dying. He does his best to remember that there's no need to lash out at the people bumping into him because it's not a guard moving closer, holding him, pinning him and making him wish he was dead. He does his best not to bolt as children run past him, because they're not trying to escape a firing squad they're just going to class. _It's Earth not Tarsus._ He repeats the words over and over in his head but it does nothing to still his hammering heart.

And for the most part he succeds, he catches himself as his feet unconsciously quicken. He doesn't whip his head all the way around as somebody shrieks mere feet behind him. He pulls his hand back just in time to stop himself from breaking a girls arm as she briefly touches his.

He makes it to class and settles down in his seat. He sits as close to the door as he can get but far enough away that he still has another escape, part of him knows he doesn't need to do that but he still does. _ Kodos came and cleared the classroom the day it all started; he saw lines of children led unwittingly to their deaths._

Silence settles as the teacher walks in. The Holoboard activates and a lesson plan flashes on screen.

Open App 6.15 and read screen one. His fingers skim across the Padd resting on his desk, but he doesn't read. He can't calm himself enough to read the words. He knows this chapter; he remembers skimming over it a few nights ago when yet again he woke up from a nightmare. The words hadn't made the screams still rolling through his head or the nausea in his gut better that night.

Minutes pass and then the teachers speaking. "Earth and the galaxy's history have been marred by many such events as you just read. "

Kirk looks up, watching the teacher as she strides back and forth talking, behind her pictures flash past on the screen, dates and locations underneath.

_Two towers toppling- September 11__th __–__21__st__century_

_Two gigantic mushroom clouds engulfing cities, Japan 20__th__century_

_Dark skinned people packed on ships, so tight their bodies are crammed together- Slave trade, Former United States 16__th__century_

_People running as vessels fly overhead strafing crowds. Augments marching throughout cities, rounding up people for selection. 21__st__century _

He stares at the pictures, and sees two images for every one. There are people running in terror during the Second World War as fire rains down from the sky, but there's people running as ships flew overhead, bolts of lasers flicking out, and bodies disappearing in halos of light.

There's emaciated bodies packed on top of each other and being shoved into crematoriums by smiling guards with SS on their uniforms and theirs troops wearing Kodos' uniform piling corpses- aliens and humans- so they can burn them.

The teacher continues speaking. "But we have made so much progress, the entire galaxy has, and what has happened in the past doesn't happen anymore, we have grown past our prejudices and we have learned from history."

A sour taste coats his mouth and before he knows it he speaks. Everybody in class turns to look at him. "That's not true." He repeats the words again and his teacher frowns. "James," he flinches as she uses his name, it reminds him of thick lips whispering it heavily into his ears as rough hands pet his body.

She doesn't notice his reaction or maybe she doesn't care, he can't tell anymore. "If you have something to say, why don't you wait until you're called on?"

He doesn't speak again, and she frowns even more, an odd look crossing her face as she stares at him. He knows she as well as the other teachers knows something happened to him, but he also knows none of them know exactly what. They know he was away for a few years and came back very changed, but they don't know why.

The teacher chooses to ignore his outburst and continues the class. A quiz is given which he knows he failed and can't bring himself to care. Then they're each called up , one by one to read sections of the chapter—It's about the holocaust, he doesn't need to read it, he doesn't need a reminder of history—he's already lived it…._The past is his present._

James ignores the bored voices reading out passages; he lets his mind wander instead of listening to the words. It's easier to just drift away. Then it's his turn. "James"

"James"

It takes the teacher three times before he turns his head and looks at her. She stares at him a tad irritated and somewhat worried. Her mouth opens to say something else but he shuffles from his seat to the front of class. She clears her throat and says quietly. "Section 6.11.3 please." He flicks to the right screen and begins to read, he doesn't want to. But he knows if he doesn't do his mother will hear about it and then he'll be dragged to another therapist or counsellors who will then try to make him talk and force him to sit for hours while they try to "connect".

"During World War II, several million people were murdered, by the Nazi Regime. Auschwitz was one of the concentration camps which had the highest body count of record to its name. "He pauses but manages to continue. "One of the most common method in which they committed this atrocity is through the use of gas chambers, people were herded into the room and…"

_Crouching on the roof of an abandoned building, watching as the guards stripped the prisoners of their possession, clothes anything they could. Then they were marched one by one into the building. He knew it had once been a recycler and he knew that now it would serve a similar purpose, people weren't that much different from Garbage in Kodos eyes._

He blinks, and glances around, he's only stopped talking for a few seconds but everybody is staring at him. He swallows and continues, trying to rush through the pages so he won't have time to comprehend what he's speaking. It doesn't work.

"Thousands of people died indirectly from the Nazi's cruelty. Many were ravaged by disease, others—others st-st-starved to death…"

_The entire house was empty except for the front room. Lying there were three bodies, a mother and two kids, the skin was pulled tight against their skulls, clothes hung off their frames, and even from feet away it was obvious what had killed them. The slow, death of starvation._

"Continue James."

He looked up, his throat felt tight. The words were blurring on his Padd. "No."

"James, this is history class you—"

He didn't wait for her to speak; his entire frame was trembling now. It's history, so far in the past. It's supposed to never happen again, but it already has and it's too much. He can't read about something when every word is a reminder of how he's lived it. "I'm not reading anymore of this sh—" He tries to make the words firm, but his voice is trembling so the sentence is mumbled and his eyes are burning.

The Padd drops from limp fingers, pieces of plastic fly across the room and the screen shatters. He's shaking so much it feels like a single breath will knock him over.

The teacher is moving closer now, her lips move, but he can't hear the words. She reaches towards him, looking worried. He doesn't see the expression, just the hand moving towards him trying to make connect. He stumbles back, catching the side of a desk in his back. Words come out, whispered, like a broken plea "I'm not reading anymore." _I'm not remembering anymore. _ The last words were left unsaid, but he means them with every fibre of his being.

The teacher frowns even more, he manages to stumble farther back, away from the other students staring at him and the teacher speaking words he can't understand.

He reaches the back of the room. His back is pressed tightly to the wall, legs locked to hold himself up, skin pale as ghost and she's still coming closer .It triggers another memory. She reaches out grabbing his arm and he desperately rips himself free. He pulls even tighter into himself and he can't help the strangled whimper that breaks free from his lips or the trickle of liquid that starts down his legs. He's lost in nightmare for a moment, and he's back on Tarsus. _Hands holding him tightly, a body pinning him. The thick smell of sweat, blood trickling down his face and rough skin rubbing against his own rhythmically as a silent scream lodges in his throat. He wanted to run but couldn't._

It's not like that now, he can move. He can run. He does.

He breaks away as she tries to touch him again and he shoves her back, then he's racing out the room. Classes are letting out; he ignores the students littering the corridor and runs until he finds an empty classroom. Somebody finds him almost an hour later cowering in an empty classroom. Too far gone to even cry out when she touches him, instead he pulls tightly into himself burying his head in his knees, his arms wrapped around his shoulders like he's trying to hold himself together. School's let out by the time he moves and this time his mother touches him. Numbly he stands up flinching as the school nurse tries to pull him up him. He lets somebody guide him to the seat. He's vaguely aware of the principal (whose arrival he didn't even notice), the school nurse, his teacher and his mother all discussing him. They think he can't hear them but he does.

"He's not ready for this amount of stimuli yet." The school's nurse clipped assessment starts it off.

Then it's the principal, concerned and questioning. "What exactly happened?"

"I'm sorry principal Carmichael it's very traumatic I can't really discuss it" His mothers' tones are equal parts sad and in control…only he hears the desperation in her voice.

'"He freaked out in class, the incident was very disturbing. –"

"Do we know what caused this?"

He zones out as his teacher answers they're all talking about him, but nobody's talking to him. He could take the kids, the noise, the questions and the stares but he can't take the memories.

The brief conversation washes over him and then his mother comes. She stares at him awkwardly and speaks. He doesn't get all the words, his mind is too distracted. But he knows what she wants, numbly moving by rote he follows her out the school, legs still trembling slightly, pants still damp, and flinches that he can't help when the principal abruptly reaches out to pat his back.

It's late at night. He's curled up in bed, not asleep he avoids that as long as possible, and it keeps the nightmares away for just a little longer. He's still breathing fast and his stomach aches from a dinner that wouldn't stay down. The light is off and he's staring out the window. He feels a weight settle on the edge of his bed and automatically bolts upright, heart hammering in his chest and his own remembered screams in his ears. But this time it's not a hairy hand caressing is face, or a rough voice whispering lewd phrases. It's quiet and soft and something he misses even though he never really had it before. He doesn't know how to react. His body stills and he stiffens as hands grasp his shoulder pulling him into a hug.

The words are almost silent and he feels them whispered against his head. 'What went wrong today Jim?"

He doesn't speak, instead he trembles and this time he starts crying. His mother lets him lie back down and immediately he curls up again. Her face is pinched, her eyes worried but he doesn't answer.

He can't figure out the words to explain how he's trapped in a nightmare.

And…

He's sure she wouldn't understand anyway.

* * *

_Basically the inspiration for this piece was that while things change, some things stay the same. Hence in a lot of ways the past is doomed to be repeated and we are stuck in a never-ending cycle. Thanks for reading._


End file.
